


Il fait froid, mon cher.

by Lkcsi



Category: Shovel Knight
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 02:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12547124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lkcsi/pseuds/Lkcsi
Summary: It's winter and the wind brings chills.Phantom Striker needs warmth and assurance this time.





	1. No Muddy Boots, Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spincontroller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spincontroller/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a gift to my wonderful best friend! I wish you a happy time reading this, mon ami <3
> 
> And this is for Propellerstriker shippers who desperately need fanfiction of them!

The Flying Machine was grounded. Its ‘wings’ were pulled up and none of its propellers turned.

The Hoverhafts patrolled around with thicker garments under their light armor and no propellers attached to their backs. They wrapped scarves around their necks, ears, and head instead of helmets, and pulled it up to their noses to fight the chill of winter. Their eyes were peeled for any thieves and bandits aiming to take advantage of their vulnerable airship that they considered their home. 

Non-combatant crew members stayed within the ship, making sure that the interior of the ship was kept warm. They all walked around, stretching their bodies and rubbing their hands. Some of them burped endlessly, just to provide the unsuspecting fellow crew member a chuckle in the dark and snowy day. There was just something inherently funny about burps for this particular crew. 

Propeller Knight paced back and forth in his plant room, periodically looking out where his love had been before he departed for a quick battle. Out of his window was a clear day. There was just howling wind, but it was not snowing anymore.

_ No sign of a storm. _

He inhaled deeply to attempt to fight the growing pang of anxiety about his love’s whereabouts.

He mostly remembered how exactly Phantom Striker wore his cape. The flowing blue cape, always warm with magic and soft with love, was tied over his left shoulder. He always let it cover the right side of his body. He didn’t exactly do that to hide anything on his body. His weapon would appear to materialize out of thin air before fights. 

The spiky helmet had not yet been placed on his head, and his messy hair could be seen. The captain smiled to that. Some nights, he combed the stormbringer’s hair and braided it. Sometimes he thought of putting a flower on his hair to make him feel more free to enjoy himself.

The captain glanced upon one of his potted flower bushes. He knelt and smiled at the lovely plant, one of the buds blooming despite the winter. He closed his eyes and cupped his face with one hand, his elbow resting on his knee.

_ Maybe a chrysanthemum would do the trick. They rarely survive the winter. _

He recalled the tone of his voice, what had happened in the outside, and what they had been doing. He had been mixing his soup that morning when Phantom Striker had politely tapped on his shoulder. 

“I have heard of an aspiring wanderer.” He had spoken softly, yet the captain could tell he was excited. “He utilizes the power of the earth, and he claims to be a strong warrior.”

“And you want to fight this one?” Propeller Knight had replied. “Can’t you have some warm soup before you go?”

Both of them had looked out at the dark early morning sky. Small flakes of snow had been delicately falling down from the clouds. There had been a short silence, before the captain spoke once more.

“Why don’t you warm yourself up before you go out?” He had gestured to his bowl of soup. “We have lots of soup.”

“I do not need it.” The warrior paused for a moment before 

“Well… I just really want you to be safe. Can you promise me that? Please?”

He had pulled his lover in an embrace with his left arm, transferring the warmth of his cape to his partner. “I promise that, and I shall return before the evening. I love you.”

Then they shared one small kiss, before Striker turned to leave.

Propeller Knight opened his eyes to see the blooming flowers inside his greenhouse. Beautiful things in a myriad of colors were there, and in his mind he thought of fairies gracing the lush foliage of green with their presence, and they created these blooms to be their houses in which they rest during the night. Within the roses, the fairies of love and friendship rest. Inside the bluebell’s petals resided the benevolent spirits of generosity. Tulips housed the passionate fairies. Those were just an example. And these mythical but lovely creatures often changed their colors to let their emotions reign supreme.

He stood up, glancing down at the potted flower bushes with wistfulness. As he walked out, he thought of his lover, his everything, and thought that maybe Phantom Striker would be happy with a bouquet of chrysanthemums.

The grasp of anxiety tightened around the man once again.  _ Where is he? It’s been so long, and twilight will come soon.  _ He breathed in and out, thinking of his strength and inability to break promises he made.

“He’ll come back soon.” He spoke to himself under his breath, and walked to the direction of the deck. Propeller Knight passed by his Hoverhafts, all laughing (and burping) as they patrolled their respective hallways. He greeted them, and he would watch as their eyes lit up with more joy as they greet him back. Some of them were born into the service. Some of them were rescued. All of them respected him.

Some of the children of his crew members ran in the corridors, giggling. When he turned to look, he saw their thick clothes partially covered in snow. Their boots were slightly muddy, and so part of him was sorry for the poor people who would need to clean the mud and dirt. They stopped when they saw him, and immediately bolted in his direction. One of the smaller children, a five-year old boy, came first and immediately wrapped his arms around his right leg. He chuckled. This particular boy was the son of one of his soldiers, and unfortunately his mother had died in childbirth. He had come to view Propeller Knight as a parental figure. His playmates followed, and the captain could recognize them all. There was the six-year old daughter of a cook and a maidservant. There was the ten-year old boy they had found wandering and crying in a desolate village a few years ago, holding a sleeping baby in his arms, with the embers from the fire that razed the huts still smouldering. With the boy was a four-year old girl--his sister.

“Captain!” They cheered, glancing up at him, the hope and joy in their eyes a sight to be treasured.

“Children, what did I say about bringing muddy boots in the ship?”

“That we shouldn’t bring them into the ship and leave them by the cargo bay!”

“Exactly.”

They paused, pouting as they realized.

“I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry too.” “Hug.”

“It’s alright, children. Clean after yourselves and help out here.” Propeller Knight tousled the blond hair of the young boy still latched onto his leg. 

“I love you, captain!” The little boy looked up and hugged his leg a little tighter before letting go and running off with the other children. Propeller Knight grinned to himself as these cute little kids went off to fetch mops. Pure little angels giggling and enjoying the fact that they could do something before they go to the play room.

A small crackling sound disturbed his thoughts, and when he turned, a bright figure formed. There was a brief flash of light and  _ he  _ arrived, the minute sparks of lightning dissipating as the Phantom Striker emerged.

To Propeller Knight’s horror, he was contained head (spike) to toe with earth, and even his warm magic cape wasn’t spared from it. He was still standing upright, but from the heavy heaving in his breath and his wobbly gait favoring the right leg, something worse had clearly happened.

“Don’t walk on your own!” He rushed to catch his beloved, and immediately had his dirtied arm wrap around his shoulder. 

“A cruel fighter…” Phantom Striker half-growled, half-mumbled, and leaned into his supporting pillar. “He is a deceitful, sorry excuse of a human being. The way the earth moved… it was as if it was flowing, like water. The earth caught my left leg and twisted it, intending to break it.”

“It’ll be fine, you’re here now. Don’t think of anything else. Let’s go, get you cleaned up, and have your foot checked.”

“I do not need to be tended to by medicine. My magic is enough for me.”

“But- fine. You still need to rest, you know. Sleep in the bed, too, and don’t go out for a while. Please? I’m worried about you,  _ mon cher. _ ”

Phantom Striker couldn’t resist the pleading look in his eyes, and nodded.


	2. Tucking Flowers in Your Hair

It was warm. For Propeller Knight, the blanket was so warm and soft, oh  _ so so soft. _ It was almost like it was manufacturing its own heat.

He opened his eyes. He was facing the window, and the sun was already up and shining, although the many clouds in the sky muted its brightness. He saw the flakes of snow fall down from the sky, and he saw them swirl around in midair. To him it was much like petals of the sky dancing to the melody of the wind. He pulled his warm blanket up to his chin. The dark blue color of it caught his eye, and he glanced sleepily at it. It glowed dimly, its light a wonderful gold color. He closed his eyes, and turned to his side to reach his lover and wrap his arm around him.

“Mm, morning.” Propeller Knight said, expecting a warm body beside him, still asleep, or at least still lying down. His arm settled on a pillow carefully placed there, and so he sighed. He willed himself to sit up, and once he did, he rubbed his eyes and blinked to clear the fog of drowsiness.

His mind ran through the areas of the ship where his injured beloved could be as he stood up to get dressed for the day.

He could hear the strong soughing of the wind, and Propeller Knight grabbed one of his scarves and wrapped it around his neck. He pulled his lover’s warm cape from the bed and grabbed a small bag, and then he walked out to look for him.

But first, he would go to the greenhouse and personally pick a few chrysanthemums.

* * *

 

He found Phantom Striker seated on the deck of the ship, seated on the bench by the door. He didn’t have his helmet on, although the cloth masking the lower part of his face was up. His arms were tightly wrapped around his torso, and his right leg was curled up. His left foot rested on the floor, thick bandages hastily and sloppily wrapped around his ankles and knee. 

The captain approached, gaze fixed on his injured beloved. He noticed the slight shiver and the empty stare upwards to the skies. The stormbringer didn’t even notice him approach closer and sit on his side, and only responded when Propeller Knight wrapped his glowing blue cape around his shoulders and cup his face.

“ _ Il fait froid, mon cher. _ ” He crooned softly, pulling down the mask and pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. 

The injured one gasped in surprise, his cheeks turning pink, and then red. His right leg unfolded and rested on the snow-laden floor.

“It’s cold, my love. Why are you out here?”

Still, no response. Striker looked down forlornly, his sighs forming vaporous clouds. 

“This weather is your doing, isn’t it? And that,” the captain pointed to the haphazard bandaging, “is also you, right?”

“... yes. But I did not want anyone to see me here, hence the unpleasant weather. I am vulnerable, pathetic-”

“Ssh.” The knight pressed his index finger on his lips. He embraced his lover and rested his chin on his shoulder. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes. I can.”

“Now, can you hear me say that I love you and I’m hugging a handsome man who just happens to powerful, determined, and righteous?”

“My foe almost killed me yesterday. He was a scum of the earth, and he had captured my left leg and injured me so. I was caught off-guard. I must have been a pathetic sight, that even if I had resorted to desperate tricks he still won over me. My honor as a bringer of justice and a tester of strength has been tarnished, and my pride has been shattered.”

“Are you  _ really _ going to let someone stupid let you down?” Propeller Knight snuggled closer. “Evil people, even if they win in fights with you, don’t exceed in your good morality.”

He remained silent, but leaned his face onto the other man’s hair and returned the embrace.

“Do you think they think you’re not strong enough?”

“Yes. I must be a laughingstock to them.”

“Do you think you can’t beat them next time?”

“Yes…”

“Do you think it means the end? Because I don’t think so.” He gently lifted his head up. His amber eyes met his partner’s golden ones. “This is just a setback. Something you can still get out of. It’s for your growth, too.”

“Perhaps my emotions are getting the best of me.”

“Emotions are things that happen. It’s okay to feel like the worst now, especially that you’re physically hurt and it’s one of the only times you got defeated.”

“These will pass.”

“If you want them to pass. Do you want them away?”

“I do not want to… be someone they consider as weak. I cannot be weak.”

“Then, heal.” He took his hand in his palms. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

Propeller reached into his bag and took out chrysanthemums, colored red, violet, and white. Their stems were cut short. “ _ Cher _ , what do you think these flowers represent?”

The stormbringer only gazed at the flowers quietly, and then shook his head.

“White stands for purity and truth,” he tucked the flower behind Striker’s right ear, “and they also signify devotion in love and cause. You’re a pure, honest man, my love, and I know you’re devoted.”

“To you. I am devoted to you.”

Propeller blushed. “Then we have a red one. It symbolizes… guess what?”

“Deep passion and love, much like roses?” He answered as the red flower was tucked behind his right ear.

“Mhm. And the violet chrysanthemum… it means I wish for you to heal and get well.” Propeller tucked this one over his chest, behind his medallion with an engraved lightning bolt. “Please heal.”

Striker reached up to the violet bloom, his fingertips ghosting over his lover’s hands. “I will.”

“And they normally don’t grow in winter. They remind me of you when I see them in the greenhouse.” 

“How thoughtful.”

Propeller Knight smiled, and kissed him lightly. “So, heal for me, and then you can venture out again and teach that  _ oyster dick _ a lesson in pain and morality.”

Striker snorted in amusement. “Why would you use such a… creative insult such as ‘oyster dick’, my love?”

Propeller shrugged. “I’m French.”

He chuckled more. To Propeller it meant the world to see his wide smile and hear his laughs. 

“Let’s get to the infirmary and have that checked, too.” The captain suggested, and with that, Striker finally agreed. 

“I am in need of medicine, yes...”

“I’ll carry you.” Propeller Knight said, and then placed his arms on Phantom Striker’s back and legs, carefully heaving him up. The latter wrapped his arm around his neck and snuggled close.

“This’ll be the one time I’m the one carrying you to safety,  _ mon cher _ .”

“I am beginning to understand why you feel happy when I carry you. It is a lovely position. I can move without walking or flying. I am being carried by a handsome and strong man.”

“You’re making me blush! Stop it!” He joked, and Striker poked his cheek.

“I always do. Heh.”

“I won’t drop you.”

“I trust in you, my beloved.”

They turned around a corner and entered the crisp and clean infirmary, and an idea struck Propeller’s mind. He gently put him down on a bed and soon a nurse arrived to check on the injured leg.

“So whenever you feel down, I’ll just say ‘oyster dick’.”

He chuckled again. “What if I grow used to it, and no longer laugh? I may need more jokes.”

The usually composed and polite captain smirked, and then let out a few more creative curses. He poked on the chrysanthemums on his hair and then planted a tiny kiss for every insult he could come up with. 

“Shit sausage. Fly fucker. Dickwaffle face. Asscrack piss-”

At this point, the usually stoic Phantom Striker let out a mirthful laugh, and Propeller Knight soon joined in the laughter.


End file.
